


BBC Imagines

by TechnoSkies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnoSkies/pseuds/TechnoSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: How Could I Refuse? A Moriarty Drabble</p>
<p>Author: 18tails (via. "http://18tails.tumblr.com/")</p>
<p>Original Imagine Link: Imagine bumping into Moriarty and spilling your coffee so he offers to buy you a new one. ( http://bbcsherlockimagines.tumblr.com/post/115858813759/imagine-accidentally-bumping-into-moriarty-and )</p>
<p>Warnings: Cuss words, beautiful reader, spilled coffee.</p>
<p>Word Count: N//A</p>
<p>Summary: The reader is late to work on awful Friday morning where luck avoids her, that is until she is presented to Jim Moriarty in her time of need.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. How Could I Refuse? (Moriarty x Reader Drabble)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: How Could I Refuse? A Moriarty Drabble
> 
> Author: 18tails (via. "http://18tails.tumblr.com/")
> 
> Original Imagine Link: Imagine bumping into Moriarty and spilling your coffee so he offers to buy you a new one. ( http://bbcsherlockimagines.tumblr.com/post/115858813759/imagine-accidentally-bumping-into-moriarty-and )
> 
> Warnings: Cuss words, beautiful reader, spilled coffee.
> 
> Word Count: N//A
> 
> Summary: The reader is late to work on awful Friday morning where luck avoids her, that is until she is presented to Jim Moriarty in her time of need.

"Bloody.." Whispering under your breath, agitation ridden and fill lips pressing off what first popped into your mind without a formal filter. All you wanted was a nice day in this tedious, stress ridden and rage inducing week, for it all to end on a good note, but instead on a Friday morning you were oh so fashionably late.

It was the alarm clock again. Your phone had been faulty ever sense you've been contacted contacted by that man on the street. Short, his eyes blue in pity and remorse for a false apology in excusing his rather rude and egotistical long coated companion, who'd stormed off after none so gracefully commencing the disaster that was your hard work into a puddle. Ah, the rejuvenation of your spite for Monday's.

Working for the largest cell phone software company was no walk in the park, so coffee was a necessity every morning. Your favorite was for some reason off menu this morning, so you settles for average black coffee with sugar in a pint. If you had had more time, there would be much less of a hassle with catching that cab, but your dress code must include high heels and the pencil skirt had a no better effect on your stealth. However, throughout your hectic morning, you've made it.

Reaching your openly skinned legs as a model would have, except less tranquil due to your hustle, it was no secret you were a dime among a dozen. Lifting your firmly shaped bass off the comfortable seat, you were driven to pull through to the time register before your hour begun. However, one step too quick, you crashed into a moving target.

Precious, hot black coffee stained your open button blouse and vest, touching your skin in a sizzle for dominance. Biting your lip to keep from crying out, the pain was bearable, just not the frustration. A small growl slipped, and your head soon dipped in submission. It was over for you, no way would this hold against your thinly strung flawless record. Your boss simply would not have it.

"Christ, ma'am I cannot apologize enough! Are you alright, I'm terribly sorry!" "No, no, just-" Looking up you met striking cobalt irises and they started back with intensity leaving you stricken. You swallowed down your biting temper but instead you continued lightly, "I-it could have happened with anyone..." 

The stunning man soon gave a brief grin, suppressing a huff in amusement. Carefully his hand reached for his breast and steadied around the cotton handkerchief in his pocket. It seemed it was no surprise pulling it out and offering it to you. Soon enough you dabbed the stain left behind by the rather enticing man... dare you say alluring as if you know him.

Black hair, slick without even a trace of gel. There wasn't anything shiny about it, seeming artificial and instead glowed in charm as it naturally swirled into a princely sweep. His blue eyes had no comparison to the sky, surpassing in both shine and caress like embrace. His lips were thin, fair skinned with evidence of higher cheekbones found on everyday men. It was breathtaking just how captivating he was...

"Ma'am?"

Fluttering lashes and a light dip of your neck dwindled with a swallow, "Apologies. What did you say?" It was a shock to recognize how distracting he was after only just meeting him.

"Do you need a refill, ... Ma'am?"

"[Name], please. And yes, that's be delightful."


	2. Can't Wait 'Till Morning (Sherlock x Reader Drabble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine You and Sherlock Staying Up All Night Texting Because You Both Can't Sleep.
> 
> " " - Means Sherlock's texts  
> ' ' - Means Your texts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Can't Wait 'Till Morning (Sherlock x Reader Drabble)
> 
> Original Imagine Link: Imagine You and Sherlock Staying Up All Night Texting Because You Both Can't Sleep. ( http://bbcsherlockimagines.tumblr.com/post/116474201929/imagine-you-and-sherlock-staying-up-all-night )
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Sherlock OOC, adorable trustworthy Reader, Late Night Texting.
> 
> Word Count: ...
> 
> Summary: Imagine You and Sherlock Staying Up All Night Texting Because You Both Can't Sleep.

The bright light in the corner of your eye became scarce as an audible 'click' was heard. You quickly looked towards the culprit, your eyes meeting martyr coloured brown pools. Your friend, recently established single gave a curt frown at your distinct confusion and flabbergasted batting of eyelashes. She never entered your bedroom, as roommates often respected their own secluded chambers. You supposed it was rather more her agitation, as she wanted her day to finally dwindle along with the moon and to sleep her disappointment away. 

"Amy?" Your gentle voice attempted confrontation, a talk will most likely be in order and better sooner than later. However, stubborn as she is, swiveling on her bare heel on the rug, she walked off with an almost dragging of her arms. The slump in her shoulders no longer unnoticed with her vivid white cloaked shoulders in the darkness.

It was as if she abandoned you in her own depressing mood. It may just be normal jealousy or bad friendship, but the rooms aura placed you in a difficult river of guilt. This guilt had an abrupt explanation, named fittingly under the name Sherlock Holmes. He was the source of Amy's distress and your unbridled guilt. 

Slipping a hand under your pillow, delicate fingers grabbed for your reliable phone, confident on confronting the criminal of Amy's woe. The light brightly shown in the shadows, your hands dancing over the seemingly endless contact list and pressing onto the infamous name. Pausing briefing to think over this decision, it prolonged for a tedious thirty seconds until you pressed "New Message".

Dotting along the keys on the illuminated screen, your eyes quickly became used to the light as your cheeks did the warmth of your blush. The text, simple, 'Convenience? You couldn't have asked as a friend?'

Not a minute later, a message was replied. "Of course." Just as blunt, but it rang arrogance like a bold clawed crab.

Rolling your careful [eye color] eyes with instantaneous regret of replying, knowing this discussion will only lead to a sleepless night with your discomfort and his victory. You never stopped your fingers from stopping, just in fact, and it was no lie you craved these conversations throughout the weekly events effecting your life and the source conversing with you like an old friend.

'Was it for John's advantage? You must be warning Mary.'

"Whatever your childish head has excused my actions for love, you are deeply mistaken."

Covering your nose as a none to lady like snort offered itself from your nostrils, it became difficult to not be entertained by his protest. You pictured his straight face, appearing blank, blooming a blush when the word "love" exposed his morals. Sherlock may be stone, but even mountains crumble.

'I'm certain.'

"Don't act wise, it doesn't suit your immaturity."

'You don't always remain dignified, either. Admit it, you've grown soft ever sense you've separated from your skull.'

Of course it would not be a friendship if secrets and stories had not been shared. It obscured you in no way when the consulting detective would often appear on the telli. On multiple occasions it would become a personal meeting, running into each other as if fate pushed our steps, and thus willing our connection to premier itself. During such experiences, I've met the kindred soul John Watson, his fiancee Mary Morastan and been told stories of insightful entertainment, including his previous comrade the skull.

However, no matter the times you have asked Sherlock has denied my answer: Why confide in you with classified and personal deductions? He's shared his suspicions of Mary, the dire rescue of Irene Adler (including location), and most importantly... how he fell. 

There was simply no plausible explanation as to why nor how he acquired such trustworthy views of you. All you apparently, logically and typically are, is a nearby friend, maybe not even that. The grand Sherlock Holmes does not let friends in easily, so why acquire you to his life? 

A bright ring awoken the temporary indulgence of your thoughts, your body jostling consciousness.

"Simply because I've drawn close to a more an alluring confidante."

This quirks your brow. It's certainly not everyday the aromantic uses the vocabulary "alluring." No way it could possibly be Mary. She is allegedly intriguing, but she was a taken woman.  
Molly is plausible, however she often is too engaged with her unique job to have time to talk, and Sherlock certainly has the decency to not bother the hard working young lady in late hours such as this. Then who...?

With a joking intent I sent, 'John would certainly not appreciate this talk behind his back. He'll be flattered.' Send.

Almost instantly, "Clearly it's not John. [Name], dear. Think!"

An extra moment of internal debate commenced, 'Dear Molly must be terribly busy, don't deter her work.'

"Surely you must not be this slow, love."

'Love?' Where did this come from? This was exceptionally out of persona for Sherlock. Why is he so adamant about praising you with honorific titles? Crushes were surely something Sherlock was out of experience with expressing, but was he more so begging you to guess correctly? Was the great Holmes becoming impatient over a guessing game?

'Sherlock just tell me! This is monotonous!'

A minute passed. Two, then three, and finally a dull 'ring' chimed. You had kept track of time in your prestigious wait, thinking of his ultimate reply. The time struck 11:11 p.m.; the prayer hour.

The answer...

 

"You. Obviously."

...

 

Sherlock has lost. This round, you have acquired speechless and halted the text chain first. His tentative messages did not cease; in alarm ring after ring proclaimed your affirmed victory over this relentless and smitten Sherlock.


End file.
